of his dreams. A fierce pang
of jealousy shot through his breast. His nephew never looked so handsome
and so intelligent; in fact, poor Leonard had never before been drawn
out by a woman of the world, who had learned how to make the most of
what little she knew. And, as jealousy operates like a pair of bellows
on incipient flames, so, at first sight of the smile which the fair
widow bestowed upon Leonard, the heart of Mr. Avenel felt in a blaze.

He approached with a step less assured than usual, and, overhearing
Leonard's talk, marvelled much at the boy's audacity. Mrs. M'Catchley
had been speaking of Scotland and the Waverly Novels, about which
Leonard knew nothing. But he knew Burns, and on Burns he grew artlessly
eloquent. Burns the poet and peasant; Leonard might well be eloquent on
_him_. Mrs. M'Catchley was amused and pleased with his freshness and
_naivete_, so unlike any thing she had ever heard or seen, and she drew
him on and on, till Leonard fell to quoting: And Richard heard, with
less respect for the sentiment than might be supposed, that

"Rank is but the guinea stamp,
The man's the gowd for a' that."

"Well!" exclaimed Mr. Avenel. "Pretty piece of politeness to tell that
to a lady like the Honorable Mrs. M'Catchley. You'll excuse him, ma'am."

"Sir!" said Mrs. M'Catchley, startled, and lifting her glass. Leonard,
rather confused, rose, and offered his chair to Richard, who dropped
into it. The lady, without waiting for formal introduction, guessed that
she saw the rich uncle.

"Such a sweet poet--Burns!" said she, dropping her glass. "And it is so
refreshing to find so much youthful enthusiasm," she added, pointing her
fan towards Leonard, who was receding fast among the crowd.

"Well, he is youthful, my nephew--rather green!"

"Don't say green!" said Mrs. M'Catchley. Richard blushed scarlet. He was
afraid he had committed himself to some expression low and shocking. The
lady resumed, "Say unsophisticated."

"A tarnation long word," thought Richard; but he prudently bowed, and
held his tongue.

"Young men nowadays," continued Mrs. M'Catchley, resettling herself on
the sofa, "affect to be so old. They don't dance, and they don't read,
and they don't talk much; and a great many of them wear _toupets_ before
they are two-and-twenty!"

Richard mechanically passed his hand through his thick curls. But he was
still mute; he was still ruefully chewing the cud of the epithet
_green_. What occ